


Sestina: Ignis in Ruin

by lucianlibrarian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Ignis Verse 2, Hospitals, Kissing, Love Confessions, Love Poems, M/M, Nostalgia, Pining, Poetry, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sestina, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 15:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucianlibrarian/pseuds/lucianlibrarian
Summary: It is said that the sestina was created by a Provençal troubadour known for his tales of courtly love, and the poetic form achieves its haunting effects not via rhyme but via echo.A sestina of love, longing, and memory from Ignis to Noctis.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Sestina: Ignis in Ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dark_Ruby_Regalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/gifts).



> If you're familiar with my writing, especially "[Sink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076007)," "[I Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130976)," and "[this rose is our destiny, tearing us apart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180159)," you might have noticed that I have a soft spot for the poetic—perhaps even the weird and the poetic.
> 
> It's true, I love me some avant-garde poetries. But what a lot of people _don't_ know is that I love formal poetry almost as much! It comes from the same place, I think—that need to push boundaries as far as they'll go.
> 
> In any case, there's not much radical about this; I _was_ a little floppyfloppy with the envoi rules at the end, but practically no one enforces those anyway. I was actually trying to work on Chapter 12 of "[this rose is our destiny, tearing us apart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180159)," but this happened instead. My failure is your gain? *le shrug*
> 
> Dedicated to [Dark_Ruby_Regalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia), who said there wasn't enough poetry in fandom and basically made this spring almost fully formed from my head.

Remember when you shaved my head while I slept? Your father  
almost had yours, he was so angry. I swore it was nothing,  
but it was definitely something. Must have worn that hot black  
hat for a year before I finally got rid of it. Threw it out the window  
of the Regalia. You laughed and laughed. I’d have done it again  
if I’d known it would tickle you so. I would have bought so many  


hats, flung them from the hospital roof as nurses stuck their many  
needles and tubes into you. But you were eight, I wasn’t your father,  
and it wouldn’t have mattered. I heard you cry for him again and again  
in your sleep, and I wished you would cry for me. We said nothing  
to each other for weeks—just stared at walls, tiles, out the window—  
until I left or you fell asleep. Finally, you grabbed me by my sleeve one black  


night and pulled me into your hospital bed. My face buried in your black  
hair, I almost didn’t hear you say, _Don’t go, Iggy._ You’d done this so many  
times before— _remember when I chased ghosts out your window?_ —  
that when the guards found us together, they didn’t call your father.  
When I saw the sun kiss your cheeks, I knew there was nothing  
I wouldn’t do for you. I’d considered it when you called me _brother_ , again  


when you gave me that skull pendant I’d never take off again.  
I was certain, though, when that light hit you, sparked the black  
strands of your hair like fireworks, like meteors. Nothing  
in the skies ever came close. Tonight, though, the many  
stars _do_ remind me of you—of nights sneaking past your father,  
all your nannies, out that one unmonitored window  


to your secret stargazing spot. It was a near-perfect window  
of sky, where the Wall was _just_ translucent enough. Then again,  
maybe we weren’t so sneaky after all. Maybe your father  
knew, thinned the Wall just enough to let us peer into the black  
and see what lay beyond. I’m sure he died with as many  
secrets as he did regrets. You know there was nothing  


we could have done, so when you return, I won’t do _nothing_.  
I’m already scheming, already searching for the secret window  
I can lead you through to the dawn. Noctis, I waited too many  
years to tell you I love you. I said it once in Cape Caem, again  
in Altissia, and I’ll repeat it through kisses in your starshower-black  
hair, before you face Ardyn armed with the sword of your father.  


The real World of Ruin is the many nights without you, becoming my plan and nothing  
more. Sometimes, though, I dream of your father watching us through his office window—  
I’m wearing that stupid black hat over my hair, and you yank it off, laughing like a child again.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who aren't familiar with the sestina form, the rotation of the end words is actually quite regular and mathematical. If you number them as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6, they group in pairs to add to 7 (6+1, 5+2, 4+3), and if you graph the algorithm, it creates a spiral (see more at [Wikipedia's summary of the sestina](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sestina)).


End file.
